Friday night and company rolled into camp for the weekend. It was my husband’s sister and she is as much as fun as he is–always game for an adventure that promises a good time.

Gypsies like to dance so we invited our guest to a dance lesson at our dance studio where we are taking lessons, followed by a dance party where we could practice whatever we learned. The featured dance lesson that night was The Swing. Using all my powers of concentration, I moved my feet in the demonstrated patterns. I practiced a few rounds on my own. I practiced with a dance partner. I tried putting it all together with music.

It was great. We were all having a good time with a lot of laughs.

But then came the transition that used to make me pop out my eyeballs and drop my head onto the desk when I was a kid in school–it’s that moment when you’ve figured out how to add two plus two AND you’re good enough to get it to equal four, AND you’re satisfied–ready for recess. But the dang teacher waltzes over to your desk, puts his or her hands on your shoulders (tells you to pick your eyeballs up off the floor) and starts leading you further and further onto the dance floor. He or she wants you to find unknown values for x, y, and z using mathematical slices of pi.

You’re ready for this! The great educator smiles.

NO. You want to say. Can’t you see I’m in a happy place? Can’t you see I want to grow up and be a professional doodler?

If only I could learn how to mete out my powers of concentration, instead of using up everything I’ve got from the start.

After the dance instructor taught us the basics of bopping and swinging on the dance floor, he stopped the music and said the next thing we were going to learn how to do, was underarm turns. Turn is such a tame word because we weren’t turning, we were spinning. And, there wasn’t just one spin, there were three. I felt like a ballerina-school flunk-out spinning in a music box owned by Sid on Toy Story.

But I knew I just needed to regroup my powers of concentration, and see if I could get two plus two, to equal four plus four, to equal eight plus eight.  I needed to figure out the dance pattern, learn how to count the pattern with the timing of the music, and do it all without looking at my feet. Grade-school never promised me that if I learned math, I would be able to dance. Actually, math is important if you ever want to learn anything that has to do with music. In fact, if all I ever did in grade school was learn how to play the great music of the world, using all the great musical instruments of the world, along with learning all the steps, to all the great dances of the world–well, there you have it: another one of my plans for education that would save the world.

After our dance lesson, it was time for the dance party. I’m too old to act silly, so I kept it to myself that all I wanted to do was throw not only my head, but my entire body out the window. I’m an introvert, too, so I’d rather stand in the corner and watch. And doodle. Honestly, dancing not only works out your brain, but you are expected to get your body in on the action, too. There are leaders and followers and it doesn’t happen in the safe, sedate world of cyberspace with a little thumb action–it happens in real time, with real brains and bodies grooving to music. There were waltzes, foxtrots, tangos, rumbas, cha chas, and other dances going on that did not look easy. It’s one thing to jump into the lake when you don’t know how to swim–you can thrash around on your own. It’s quite another thing to be thrown onto the dance floor, and find yourself thrashing in the arms of a stranger with twinkle toes that have been lovingly placed into a pair of official dancing shoes.

The polite dancers smile at you, tell you what to do, and after a few trips around the dance floor, they say: You’re ready for this!

*****

For the past several months, I’ve drawn a few doodles on the dance floor with my feet. I’ve filled my brain with counting patterns and steps. In between, there’s my body. My whole body. Every part of it can move to the music, with a partner. I’m the follower. And, oh, the places I go through the music of the world and the dances of the world.

There’s a lot of following going on in the world nowadays. Dancing is my kind of following–I get to meet the people I follow and together we perform the dances that used to bring people together in real time, for shared enjoyment and pleasure.

Anyone can learn to dance and begin traveling across dance floors close to home. The next thing you know, you and your dance partner will be lighting up the dance floors of the world.

But you have to know how to count!

*****

Buenos Aires. Our niece took us to a tango parlor, where the musicians and dancers cast a spell on us.